The Fifty-Sixth Day of Dark: 7:00 AM: LOG 0041

We have boarded a standard high-speed monorail, colloquially known as the Skaia Speed Transport System (SSTS), and have been seated in economy class. It seems as if the seating arrangements have been revamped since I last rode on one of these, as I have much more space than I remember having.

Each seating arrangement consists of two chairs, each facing one another, with a small table in between. These pairs are set three abreast per row, with our columnar cabin consisting of seven groups.

Aside from Kanaya and I, the train is empty, and I would expect it to be so. It is currently the Skaian Feast of the King's Benevolence, and the irony of such an event does not escape me. Currently, a majority of citizens are off of work. Our train is expected to arrive by the Fifty-Seventh day of dark, around midnight. Of course, the last time a train was on time was when the King was not a massively inflated ass, so the time is not set in stone.

I shall provide further information when it is available.

The Fifty-Sixth Day of Dark: 8:00 AM: LOG 0042

"Presumably, the administration's withdrawal from the Union is also having an effect on prisoners," Kanaya thinks aloud as she scratches a long, jade-colored talon against the table between the seats. The wood sloughs off, leaving behind a shallow line. "I have yet to substantiate my theory, though, so it will remain a concept until proven to be true."

"It makes sense to me," you say, folding your arms across your chest. Idly, you tip your chair back on its rear legs. You stare at the dingy ceiling above you, and distract yourself from unpleasant thoughts by focusing on the gentle sway of the unsteady monorail. A crude but relatable statement has been graffitied onto the grimy surface: Fuck the King. "They wouldn't kill Dave, though. They'd use him for information."

"From what I know of your cousin, that will be an invariably arduous process." Kanaya hums. Her long fingers run through her thick, black hair, brushing it back into place. "He seems to me to be exceedingly stubborn."

You can't help but roll your eyes. "He is."

"Well, that's not exactly a bad thing. He won't be exposing the secrets of the Prospitian movement any time soon. His determination is admirable."

"It can be." As much as your cousin annoys you, there's little doubt that you'd be devastated if he was killed. You believe that trolls call the sort of relationship you have with him blackrom, though it's not as intense. Both of you annoy each other, but will also help one another when the need arises. Aside from that, he's your cousin.

"I'm sure he's fine," Kanaya reassures.

You nod. "Like I said, he'll be safe for a while. The problem will be when they figure out that they're not getting any useful intelligence from him."

Kanaya, too, nods. She chews on her lip and joins you in staring at the ceiling. "I rather enjoy the graffiti."

"Same." You snicker.

A calm silence settles between you and your girlfriend. Times such as these aren't uncommon, and they're always enjoyable. This one, however, is underscored by an understandable sense of dread. While Kanaya isn't as fond of Dave as you are, she's aware of how much he means to you. Thus, she's invested in his safe return.

"This isn't working." A garbled voice buzzes from the drive inserted into one of the ports in your holotop. "There's no way a signal can be transmitted through a fucking flash drive, Dave."

You and Kanaya both freeze. Your gazes meet.

"Does this happen to be a two-way system of communication?" Your girlfriend is the first to speak. Her voice is as authoritative and distinguished as always, which provides you with a sense of comfort. "If it is," she says, having heard nothing in response to her commentary, "That would be exceedingly useful."

"Kanaya? What the fuck!?" The voice answers. Then, after a momentary silence, it continues. "No time to explain. Guards will be coming back soon. I have no fucking clue where we are. We could be in goddamned space, but I know we're at a maximum-security facility. Not that that's surprising. Dave and I are fine, but they're questioning the hell out of the blond douche."

You breathe a sigh of relief at the news. "Has Dave said anything to them?"

"I don't have time for that. The guards are back."

The soft static cuts out.

When you look up, you see Kanaya's knowing smirk. You mirror her expression; what reason would you have not to? "Well," she says, her voice tinted with a vague sense of confusion, "That was a development."

"A weird development, but I'm not about to complain." You shrug. "By the way, Jade says she'll be coming, too. Apparently, she's hired someone to look after her place for a while. Probably that Argonian down the street from her. She'll be there before we are, though. John's already there."

"I knew that John was there, Rose. He sent the broadcast." A small smile punctuates Kanaya's statement. "Where else would he be?"

"He could be on the satellite station, and he may have suddenly acquired the skills to hack the advanced security systems of the royal censor." As you usually do, you deliver your joke as if it's the truth.

Kanaya sees through this, and responds with a quiet laugh. It's a soft, breathy noise—more akin to a snicker—that's always made your heart flutter, as it is now. "I have a feeling this is the beginning of something beyond the scope of a singular rescue mission."

"Well, if we're breaking a revolutionary figurehead out of prison, we might as well go the whole way and overthrow the government, right?" you say this with a confident smirk.

Right now, the public is upset. You know this. In the few crowds you've passed on your way to Dave's, you've heard it—the dissonance and disillusionment. A revolution is coming, and you're unsure of its specifics, but you're not about to try and quell it as you have before. No, you're going to egg it on as much as possible.

Kanaya seems aware of this, too. She's yet to say so in explicit terms, but you know her well enough to be certain that she knows.